Sound Awake or Wide Asleep?
by wingedraksha
Summary: Sooo many things can happen on school field trips... and back at home... Well, just basically everywhere... The whole Johnisasketchyloser and Kittyisasuckupgeek thing? Dooooown the drain... Kyro, in case you didn't guess.


To be perfectly honest, I hadn't wanted to come on the trip to begin with. History isn't really my thing, and the Natural History Museum did not sound like a blast, to say the least. As far as I'm concerned, the past is the past is the past. Why make such a ginormous deal over it? I mean, sure, I make good grades in the class, but I make good grades in everything. Smarts does not imply fascination with the freaking subject, which, again, explains the look of utter boredom on my face as I wander through the exhibits.

The field trip is not made any better by the fact that- oh!- Jubes is conveniently sick, and Rogue is with Bobby and that sketchy-looking John kid, which leaves me with how many people to hang with? That's right. None. Sometimes, life really sucks. I scuff my heel and look at my watch. One-oh-three. Which means there are still two long hours before the bus ride back to the Institute.

Sighing, I make my wandering way to the wide front doors. Will anybody mind if I just slip out to the steps for a while? A breather? 'Cause, really, all these wax models and stuffed iguanas are making it a little bit stuffy. Well. I'm generally a good kid. Heck, I'm a great kid! The best! They wouldn't kill me for going out to sit on the steps for a few minutes.

Right?

"Oh, this is pathetic," I mutter to myself. "It's not like I'm stealing the mummy's solid gold tablet or something." With that, I push open the door, step aside so an old lady and a little boy can walk through, and take a deep breath of... smoggy, cigarette-smoke-filled New York air.

So maybe my expectations were just a little high.

Sighing again, I go and sit down on the steps beside the marble rail that goes down one side, plopping my chin in my hand. This entire day has been kind of icksome. First, my alarm broke, and so I was soothingly awakened by the sound of one of Jubilee's precious fireworks... right beside my ear. Then, after nearly falling through my floor (which would be embarrassing, as I have no idea who has the room beneath mine), I went down to breakfast only to find Bobby snagging the last blueberry bagel. Thanks, Iceman. Then, there had been the news about the field trip. On the way to the museum, we'd gotten stuck in traffic and I'd been forced to listen to Rogue try to convince Logan to sing call-and-response songs to keep us entertained. Ordinarily, this would have been pretty funny. However, Logan must have been doing some serious drinking the night before, because he appeared to actually have a hangover, and he was snarling profanities from the seat (naturally) right in front of me the entire time.

"Heya, Kit-Kat. Aren't you supposed to be sucking up to the tour guide or something?"

And cue annoying, ubersketchy fire-boy.

I look up. He's balancing on the rail beside me, his hands nonchalantly in the pockets of that leather jacket he's taken to wearing. He looks down at me, quirking a brow.

"Aren't you supposed to be blowing up some poor kid's cigarette?" The incident I am referring to is supposed to make him cringe with shame or at least irritation. Instead, he shrugs, looking a little disappointed.

"They don't allow smoking in there." Despite myself, I want to smile. Which I don't. Of course.

"Oh, too bad," I say sarcastically. He nods, looking stoic.

"Well, that's the way it is."

"Yup." He grins at me suddenly, that quick, flash of a smile that always catches me by surprise whenever I happen to notice it.

"So. You didn't answer the question. Whatcha doing out here, Kitten?"

"Since when do you even talk to me, St. John?" He wrinkles his nose.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"I read it on the roster." He rolls his eyes.

"You are such a nerd." I don't reply, and instead decide to ignore him. Unfortunately for me, John doesn't take too well to being ignored.

"Honestly," he says in a scholarly tone, still balanced on the rail, "I'm surprised you're out here. Don't you know you're wasting valuable time when you could be learning new and important bullshit?" He says this so seriously, with a look of such earnest piousness on that wickedly cute (ohmygod, I did NOT just think that!) face that I can't stop myself: I snort.

Bad move.

"It lives! It laughs! It's more than just a walking, talking dictionary!" I huff at him.

"Why aren't you with Bobby and Rogue, anyways? You know, those people who actually tolerate you?"

"Ah, they're off having some one-on-one couple time."

"What? How do they- wait, I don't even want to know." He snickers.

"Really? After all, you get so little action yourself, I'd think you'd-"

"Oh!" I glare at him furiously and scootch a little further away from him, determinedly looking down at the street. He's rocking with silent laughter, and then suddenly lets out a yelp. There is a thud. I jump and look over. John is lying sprawled across the stone steps, face turned away from me, motionless.

"Oh, God," I cry, and crawl over to him. He's breathing, but still doesn't move. Hesitantly, I reach out and put my hand to his cheek, turning his head towards mine. His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open, his hair covering one side of his forehead. "John? Pyro?" I keep one hand on his face and move the other to his shoulder, rocking him gently. "Hello? Are you okay?"

Suddenly, his eyes open and there's that sly, diabolical grin again. I'm so startled that my hand phases through his shoulder, making me fall sideways across his chest. The hand that was on his cheek flattens on the ground beside his head in an attempt to break my fall, but the other side of my torso is unsupported and I topple. Before I know what's really happened, I'm lying halfway on top of John, one of his arms around my waist, my hands braced on either side of his head.

"Um," I manage. He's still grinning at me, but it's faded to a sort of half-grin, half-smile that's actually... kind of... sweet. In a horrible way, of course! No part of John is-

"You okay? Didn't mean to scare you that much." Oh. Damn. That was sweet, wasn't it? For John?

"Yeah," I whisper. I should get up. Really. Why aren't I moving? "Are you?"

"Yeah." You know, he really is pretty cute. Before, he'd registered on my bad-boy, dead-sexy, OFF-LIMITS radar. Now, with his hair out of that slicked-back style and falling across his forehead, his hazelish eyes crinkled with humor, his sensuous mouth turned up in an actual smile, he's... well, fine. So St. John Allerdyce is attractive. And sexy. And funny. And feels really nice beneath me. And- okay, really time to get up now. But his arm is still around my waist, keeping me here. Well, darn. Shucks. Guess I'll have to stay right here, then.

"I don't really like you," he says, but not meanly. I don't know how to explain it.

"I don't really like you either," I reply honestly. At least, I hope it's honest. Imagine. Me and Pyro.

"So that's cleared up," he breathes.

"We're gonna get yelled at if Storm catches us like-"

And then he kisses me.

Oh.

OH.

He's kissing me. HE'S kissing ME. He's KISSING me. Maybe if I think it in as many ways as possible, it'll become more real. Because this has got to be some kind of freaky dream... some kind of... really... scary... unreal...

Mmmm...

Dream...

"Ow! Hey! What the fuck?!" I gasp, pulling back, startled. I'm lying on something soft, only... only, it's kinda moving. And suddenly there's an arm around my waist, trying to move me off of something, and I let out a shriek and thrash about for a while until the arm goes away. I'm breathing hard, still caught in the (I just had a sexy dream about WHO NOW???) dream, and I'm completely disoriented. There's the sudden flare of a candle, and a sleepy, confused-as-hell face is peering at me from inches away.

Oh, shit.

I fell through the floor after all.

And now I know who sleeps in the room beneath mine.

"Uh, hey, John," I try, a nervous little smile on my face. "Sleeping well?"

He stares at me.

"Why are you in my bed?"

"Well, that's a funny story. See, I was just-"

"Are you going to leave now? It's kind of cold, in case you hadn't noticed." I look down. I've somehow managed to get all of John's blankets and wrap them around myself without even trying. Quite an accomplishment.

"Well, actually, I'm not that cold at-" And then he grabs the tail end of one of the blankets and yanks. I fall over, he gets most of the blanket, the light winks out. There's a grunt, and then the rest of the covers get uncurled from around me and recurled around both of us. It happens just like the kiss (!!!) in my dream: before I can realize what he's doing, I'm spooned against his stomach and he's breathing heavily again, almost asleep.

"Wait," I say. "Wait just a minute." And I try to squirm away. He yawns in my ear, and when he speaks again, his voice has that sleepy raspiness that I love so much.

"Kitten, I'm fuckin' tired. Will you just go to sleep? You're all..." he trails off, and I think he's conked out, but then he finishes. "Warm... and... nice-smelling..." With that (I don't think he even knows what he's saying, really), John is breathing evenly into my hair and I'm stuck.

Crap.

Only...

Well, it IS warm here. And he feels good. And kind of smells nice, too. Mmm. John-smell. It's like nutmeg and cinnamon and burning pine.

So I close my eyes, wondering how in the world this happened, and then decide it doesn't really matter.

Until tomorrow morning, when someone catches me in Pyro's bed, but that's something I don't really want to think about at all.

So I snuggle a bit (hey, I'm a girl and he's John Allerdyce!), confirm with my brain that I'm just gonna have a little faith here, and we sleep.


End file.
